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hectares of poppy and marijuana fields, and I lose my shit over this barbón.
picked one that was really top: 100 percent kids of big-time moguls and shit. It was bilingual. I could even study Chinese if I wanted. I pictured myself making deals to sell opium over in China. Baller.
Her ex-husband used to beat her, almost sent her to the morgue, so she had him killed. She told me about her daughter, her mother, and the boyfriends she’d had. And I unloaded about Regina and life as the boss’s daughter. We became friends, fam. After that, I asked how my old man had found her, and she spilled.
La China was already rolling in dough and had no interest in retiring, but she liked the idea of a corrido, can you believe it? I found out later she had a special hatred for dudes who fuck with women. She told me that every time she heard about one of those assholes, she felt like she was the one getting beaten and took it personal. The scars from her ex would even start to ache. Kidnapping abusive husbands and boyfriends is like a hobby of hers, she works them over real nice. Women always speak, think, and act from the memory of our pain. La China took me up on my offer. And now that fucker
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don’t want to wield power, I want to marry it. Know what I mean? Zero Angela Merkel, all Michelle Obama.
Interesting comparison
like those señoras who chop off their hair when they get married to avoid offending their husbands by looking good. The horror.
Imagine........Men who get jealous when their wife or girlfriend chooses to look sexy/beautiful/gorgeous in public, must be so insecure it's pathetic really.
spent middle school and junior high in classes for etiquette, foreign languages, application of cosmetics, and ballroom dance. Super cool. By the time I started high school, I was already a sophisticated young woman with style. I wore elegant, austere suits by Julio and Oscar de la Renta, unforgiving three-inch heels, and nude cosmetics. My grades were always 9.5, never 10. Not because I couldn’t score that extra half a point, but because I didn’t want to embarrass the boys. I am, or was, the sort of woman people say doesn’t exist. Blond, slim, sexually available without being slutty. A lady
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If she was willing to take care of the problem, I offered to arrange a meeting between her and my husband so she could work in peace. “Your husband already cut a deal with us, Conchita,” she said. “I’ll do you this favor because I loved your sister. You want him gone, or just shaken up?” I never aspired to hold power, only to sit beside it. But when someone offers it to you, the temptation is hard to resist. “I want him dead,” I told her. “You got it,” she said, then hung up.
holy crap
Life’s a bitch. That’s why you gotta rattle her cage, even if she’s foaming at the mouth.
I put my life in the devil’s hands cause God doesn’t come through on this kinda thing. I
If you're waiting for "God" you'll be waiting a long time. I remember when I was on a Metastatic Prostate Cancer Group on FB - many men said to me (there were lots of US men in the group), I'm praying for you. My reply sometimes - when I was feeling crap was "Well he's a bit late to the party mate".
Then I found some shit-faced dumbass and said to him: “Keep walking, dickwad. Get cute, and I’ll stick you three times in the ass. Hand it over: cell, wallet, and shoes. Jewelry too, motherfucker. Don’t front.” I left him with nothing. Five thousand pesos in no time, mijo. What can I say? I’m a natural.
After my first period, she married me off to a man fifteen years my senior, an apostle on the outside and a monster on the inside.
They looked like clones: white with tiny waists, huge tits and asses, long, heat-styled black hair, and matte lipstick. Three of them were already dead. One died of natural causes,
People say her killers made a video of her being tortured and murdered and sent it to her boyfriend in jail.
Holy crap
The first time he hit me, we were on our way out
If there's a first time - it's never the last surely
They raped me, all five of them. They took turns. Tied my hands and feet, burned me with cigarettes, beat me until they got tired. They let me go just to chase me down again. They bit my breasts. They let me go, over and over, and I’d run as hard as I could, but they were faster and stronger. Whenever one caught up to me, he’d grab me by the hair and throw me down on the sand. Then he’d kick me in the face, the chest. Hard.
By the man who said he loved her. And then killed her. Her boyfriend murdered her and burned her body. Her boyfriend was a murderer. Her husband was a murderer. Her lover was a murderer. Love kills.
Disposable women.
Every two hours and twenty-five minutes, a woman in Mexico is strangled, raped, dismembered, burned alive, mutilated, beaten to a pulp, and left with bruises and broken bones.
Mexico is a monster that devours women. Mexico is a desert of pulverized bone. Mexico is a graveyard full of pink crosses. Mexico is a country that hates women. I got obsessed with femicide just like the time I got so obsessed
